Assumptions and Ignorance
by EvelynThursday
Summary: A group of new recruits only watch as Athos stumbles into the tavern after a mission drunk. Only he isn't drunk, he's badly hurt. Will their negligence and assumptions cost Athos his life?
1. Past and Present

NOTES:

My first multi-chapter story! It's mostly written, (I think, it could end up longer than I expect) so I'll try and get all the pieces up in some sort of schedule. Every Monday, perhaps?

Inspired by this prompt on the Musketeers Kink Meme (any excuse for hurting Athos) -

'I read a brilliant fic on AO3 where Porthos and Aramis got angry with Athos for pretending to be hungover when he was in fact injured, so as not to worry them.

I'd like to see this idea inverted: Athos genuinely is injured or sick but when his friends see his dulled awareness and sluggishness they assume he's hungover and say something like 'God sake, Athos, again?!'

Athos is so ashamed that his previous habits have caused them to jump to that conclusion that he keeps silent and doesn't tell them what's really the matter. Before long, he collapses and there is oodles of guilt, hurt and comfort all round!'

. ?thread=1521341#cmt1521341

I never know what warnings I need to put up. Do I need more or a higher rating?

* * *

Treville strode into the small but bustling tavern. Looking round he could spot the group of new recruits huddled round a few of the tables, outnumbering the regulars, but not his four most trusted men. He had taken a group of 15 new recruits to a small village a few days riding out from Paris to put them through their paces. His inseparables were on a few separate errands for the king and had passed through together a few days before to set up the training and to get some rooms before splitting up to do their duties and were due back today to meet here to help with the training. He himself had just got back from checking the preparations for the next day. He wandered over to the group and was met with tired but jubilant faces.

"Sir, sit here! Have a drink to celebrate!"

He was handed a beaker of wine by one of the men and held it aloft as someone toasted

"to all those who passed the riding test" followed by a cheer. Today had been the test of horse handling skills and all had passed. Tomorrow was the training and testing of their shooting skills, with Aramis' help, if he had arrived. The day after was fencing with Athos and then followed by hand to hand with Porthos. D'Artagnan was not yet the expert in anything yet so he would be helping with all of the training.

Speaking of his best men, where were they? He asked the triumphant gathering and was confused to hear the answer.

"Athos passed through here an hour ago, looking like he'd had a few drinks, sir." The man speaking sounded like he had had a few drinks himself. "He was so deep in the bottle that he could barely walk. We haven't seen the others."

Concern gathered at the base of his stomach at the words and clenched tightly. Athos may have a few demons, but he never let them affect his abilities to serve the regiment. And they had agreed to meet in the tavern's common room, not upstairs in the private rooms. Even if he needed a wash and change he should be back downstairs again by now.

He managed to excuse himself from the recruits and started to climb the stairs. He was halfway up before he could see down the corridor of the floor above. There, a few feet away was the slumped shape of a man, lying face down, right shoulder propped up against the whitewashed wall. Treville took the last of the steps in a few leaps as he hurried to the man's side, eyes scanning the body and immediately identifying the pauldron as Athos' even as his face was pressed into the floor. On the wall above the body there was a bloody handprint smeared downwards, as if made whilst the hand, or the body attached to the hand, was falling.

Treville carefully turned the man over; Athos didn't make a sound and was completely limp, face lax and skin paper white. Bending over, ear over his mouth and pressing his fingers to the other man's neck he was relieved to find he was still breathing and his heart was beating, although both were very faint. Now that he had been moved he could see the puddle of blood that had formed on the floor underneath a wound.

Moving Athos' leather coat aside he could see a once white bandage wrapped around his stomach, over his shirt, both now stained heavily with red. One hand too, presumably the one that had left the mark on the wall, was covered in blood.

Treville turned at the sound of a foot on the stairs, one hand making its way towards the sword on his hip, to protect the fallen man, which paused and relaxed when he saw who was making his way up.

Porthos paused on a step, paling when he saw the identity and state of the man lying beside his captain. He too covered the remaining distance in a few bounds and crouched beside his friend.

Treville laid a hand on the other man's shoulder.

"Can you carry him to his room? I'll go and ask the landlord for some hot water and bandages and see if there is a surgeon in the village. Aramis and d'Artagnan aren't here yet, so I'll get them sent up when they do." Porthos nodded and started to carefully work his arms under Athos' shoulders and knees. Treville stood to get out of the way, but stayed to watch Porthos tenderly lift the unconscious man in the air. His head fell backwards over Porthos' arm, bloodied hand resting over his stomach and the other hand hung limply towards the floor. Treville was always amazed at how his arms could break one man's neck but cradle another one's body so carefully.

Turning, Treville made his way back downstairs. Entering the common room he looked towards the group still merrily drinking and chatting away. They were all idiots if they couldn't tell a drunk man from an injured one, especially one who had just finished a mission and therefore was most likely to be hurt then drunk. This was the only tavern for miles, how could anyone get drunk outside of here? He would have to deal with them in the morning, making sure his man would live was the more pressing issue.

The landlord was tending bar, so he wove his way between tables and chairs towards him.

* * *

An hour earlier...

Athos stumbled through the door, trying to discreetly clutch at the wound in his right side with one hand and keep himself upright with the other. His entrance was obviously not unnoticed as a jeer went up from the group of new recruits.

"Hey, there's Athos the drunkard! Deep in your cups already are you? If you can become a Musketeer in that state then we'll get a commission easily!"

Scanning the room he couldn't spot his friends or his captain. He seemed to be the first one back. As he shuffled around the scatted furniture, trying not to wince or make a noise as every step sent shooting pains up his side, the heckling continued.

"We're going to beat you come fencing day! Look at you, you drunkard, you can't even walk in a straight line!"

He tried to ignore the taunts, but the words stung deep. If the recruits, who had only joined the regiment a few weeks ago, knew about his vices then who else know? Would he bring shame and disappointment on the regiment? Ashamed, he made towards the stairs towards his room, where he could try to see to his wound and wait for the others to return.

The stairs felt like he was climbing a mountain and by the time he had got to the top, he was breathing heavily, his vision was swirling alarmingly and he felt like he was going to throw up, but he resisted that urge as he knew that being sick would only aggravate his already agonizing side, not to mention the mess that their host would have to clear up.

Half way down the corridor, only a few steps away from the top of the stairs, his vision greyed suddenly and he staggered, flinging out the hand that was covering his injury onto the nearest wall to try and keep himself upright.

His vision failed completely as Athos crumpled, completely unconscious by the time he met the ground.


	2. Sewing Wounds

NOTES: I have no clue about medical practices back then (apart from they didn't know of the importance of washing their hands, or rather they didn't a few centuries later) so please ignore any errors (not that there is much description of them anyway). I may have named the barmaid/landlord's daughter after one of my best friends. Not that we ever called her it as she didn't like her full name, but I thought it fitted here.

* * *

_Present_

Treville entered through the only open door in the corridor and spotted Porthos leaning over the figure in the bed. Athos had been stripped down to his shirt and breeches and barely seemed to be breathing. The room was filled with candles, illuminating the room helping Porthos see if Athos had any other injuries. The light from the window opposite the door was starting to fade.

Porthos turned round and regarded his captain. Treville was shown a small cut on the side of Athos' wrist, crusted over with dried blood and had long since stopped bleeding. "He's got a few nicks, but none are worth stitching. It's the side wound that's the problem."

Treville nodded, looking grim, but slightly relieved at the news; it was only one wound that they had to tend to.

"The local surgeon is away visiting family and the local herbalist is no help to us. And it would be too dark to ride back if we went to the next village to get their surgeon and Athos is in no fit state to be moved. We are going to have to do it ourselves until Aramis gets back."

Porthos looked worried.

"Aramis says my stitching is terrible. My hands aren't steady enough." Treville put a hand on his shoulder.

"It may have been a few years since I last stitched a wound but I should be able to do a passable job. It may not be pretty, but the stitches will hold. The landlord is sending the maid up with hot water and bandages. You can keep the wound clean whilst I stitch. If he wakes you'll have to hold him down, but judging from the looks of him nothing will wake him at the moment." Porthos nodded as a young woman knocked on the doorframe.

"Here are the bandages, sirs. The hot water will be up presently and I took the liberty of bringing up some food; neither of you have eaten since you arrived. Is there anything else that you require?" She placed the tray she was carrying onto the nearby dresser then went back to stand in the doorway. Treville dismissed her with a polite,

"No thank you Charlotte. Just make sure Aramis and d'Artagnan get sent up here as soon as they arrive," and then went over to the dresser to investigate the contents of the tray. He found several rolls of bandages and two bowls of soup and a plate of bread and cheese.

He threw one of the pieces of bread at Porthos, who managed to catch it without really looking, whilst taking a bite out of the other. The other man was looking at the food in his hand with distaste. "Eat Porthos. You're not going to be any help if you're hungry. Even if you don't feel like eating it, it'll do you good. We can't do anything until the hot water gets up here." He took another bite whilst grabbing the bandages with his other hand and placing them on the bed by Athos' hip. His sewing kit that he had retrieved from his saddle bags after speaking to the landlord was put next to the bandages and the plate of bread and cheese was moved to Porthos' lap, where they both could get at it from their places on stool at Athos' side. The soup was left on the tray untouched.

They had both managed to eat a little bread and cheese, both men's stomach refusing much food at the concern of their brother-in-arms, before Charlotte reappeared carrying two bowls of steaming water. Treville stood to relieve her of them after placing the plate of barely touched food back with the uneaten soup.

"I'll be back with another bowl of water in a few minutes, if you need anything more you only need shout, I'll be in the kitchen." Said the maid and went back down stairs.

Both bowls went to Porthos, one on the bedside table beside him and the other in his lap. He began to tear one roll of bandages into rags with his knife whilst Treville laid out this sewing kit and threaded the needle.

Athos still lay unmoving on the bed, pale and barely seeming to breathe.

When both men were ready they took the bandages off from around the prone man's stomach and tugged the ruined shirt high enough that they could see the wound. There was a large gash running across his right side and stomach that pointed towards his navel. It was still bleeding sluggishly and looked deep, but with careful probing was thankfully found not to be deep enough to damage any organs.

Treville started to stitch, trying to balance skill with speed; it had to be done carefully enough so that the stitches will hold enough for the wound to heal, but quick enough that Athos didn't lose any more blood, he had lost a near fatal amount already. Porthos was using the rags he had made and the bowls of water to clean the wound enough that his captain could see what he was doing. The water was turning red with speed. Even the third bowl that the maid brought up darkened quickly.

Athos still lay unmoving under their administrations.

A clatter of boots on the stairs broke both men's attention away from their studious task; Treville paused, needle in hand, three quarters of the way along the 8 inch long wound, recognising the two treads up the wooden boards. A few seconds later Aramis and d'Artagnan pushed themselves though the doorway, pausing in shock and horror at the sight before them. D'Artagnan leaned against the wall and looked sick as Aramis rushed to his Captain's side to get a better view of his friend's wound. He was pleased at how the stitching was progressing.

"You finish that, sir; I'll get a salve out of my pack to cover the wound before we bandage it." He gave d'Artagnan's arm a pat on his way out of the room.

"Do you know how this happened?" The youngest asked. "Was he attacked here? The innkeeper's daughter is cleaning blood off the floor and wall by the stairs."

"No, I don't know what happened," Treville answered, head bowed over his work "it would seem that he was injured before he got here, and his blood loss was mistaken for drunkenness by the recruits. He collapsed in the hall and laid there until I found him an hour later."

"Bastards!" Muttered Porthos who was echoed by Aramis who had just entered the room and had heard Treville's answer to d'Artagnan's questions.

As Treville finished the stitches and tied off the thread, Porthos switched places with Aramis whose nimble fingers spread salve onto the wound before helping to bandage his friend. Porthos commented on the neatness of the stitches that were now decorating the side of his friend.

"He's almost as good as you, Aramis." Treville smiled and threw his hands in the air and arched is back, stretching.

"I have had practice over the years, but I haven't had to use those skills in a while. My back certainly isn't used to sitting hunched over like that." He looked over to the young man leaning against the wall by the door, standing hunched over, arms crossed against his chest and looking miserable. "Are you alright d'Artagnan?" He nodded.

"How's Athos?"

"Weak," said Aramis who was checking him over, "he's lost a lot of blood. He may not last the night. We just have to hope that he doesn't get an infection - that would end it for sure."

Porthos moved to d'Artagnan's side and slung an arm round his shoulders.

"Athos is strong, he won't give up. And it's not your fault; if you had gone with him instead of Aramis then we may have ended up losing both of you. If you need to find someone at fault, blame the idiots downstairs who saw he needed help and did nothing."

"Why would they think that he was drunk? They knew that we were all away on missions."

"There was a Red Guard spreading slander about us, last time Porthos and I went out to the tavern, it would seem that the recruits believed the lies about Athos." Said Aramis.

Porthos looked livid.

"I'm going to flay them alive! And that damn Red Guard when we get back to Paris!"

"Calm down Porthos," said Treville, "you'll get your chance to hit them tomorrow, I'm moving the hand-to-hand fighting forward and you can drive them as hard as you like as punishment for this. And be careful with that guard, you know the Cardinal hates it when you incapacitate his men." He paused and looked round at his men. "I'll go ask the landlord for some chairs. Knowing you three you'll want to stay here tonight, and you'll get no rest on those stools."

In the background you could hear the recruits settling down to sleep in their tents at the edge of the village as Treville descended the stairs. Being the best of the Musketeers, and as incentive to help with the training, the inseparables had each been given rooms at the tavern, but with one of their member critically injured they were not going to be used as they each planned to stay up all night in a constant vigil.


	3. Waiting

Oops, sorry! Forgot to keep updating this! I've been trying to get this as updated as the story on AO3 but I got distracted by real life. I'll try and get the story here at the same point as the one on AO3.

* * *

Aramis motioned to Porthos.

"Let's get Athos out of this ruined shirt. He'll rest better when he's warm and comfortable." Porthos moved away from d'Artagnan's side to help, leaving the younger man watching, knowing that the two friends had it in hand and he would only get in the way. It left him with time to think and feel guilty. He had had the choice a few days before, on which order to do his errands in as his duties meant that he could choose to finish the mission with either Aramis or Athos. As he wanted a chance to improve his shooting he chose Aramis. If he had gone with Athos he may have been able to stop him being hurt, or at the very least made sure that he got some medical attention as soon as he arrived in the village. He knew he was being irrational, but it hurt to feel like he was in some small way responsible for his friend's state.

By the time Treville had come into the room with the landlord, both managing to carry two chairs each, Athos was dressed in one of his clean shirts that Aramis had grabbed out of his saddlebags when he went to get his salve (all their belonging were currently in the stables as the hadn't managed to get them upstairs yet; Athos was too injured to carry them, Porthos was hurrying to find Athos after discovering a stable boy cleaning blood off Athos' horse and Aramis and d'Artagnan had rushed from the stable after being told of their companion's injuries) and covered in a multitude of blankets taken from their adjoining unused rooms.

The chairs were gathered around the bed in the middle of the room and as the landlord left the room they all settled down in them. Even d'Artagnan left his spot by the wall to sit at his mentor's side.

From his position, now close enough to touch, d'Artagnan could see that Athos' lips were pale and his fingernails were slightly blue at the base. Reaching out to grasp the still fingers with one hand he was shocked to find them almost ice cold and moved to clasp them between his two warm hands in an attempt to warm them up. He looked over at Aramis, concerned.

"It's the blood loss, his skin will feel cool whilst he recovers from the wound. He'll be feeling the cold for a few weeks."

Charlotte appeared at the doorway again and spotted the untouched bowls of soup that she had left earlier.

"You lads need something to eat. I know your friend is badly hurt, but you all will need to eat something if you are going to look after him. I've got a big pot of stew going for you, I expect you all to eat it!" She took the tray of bowls and descended the stairs into the kitchen. Aramis raised his eyebrows and grinned.

"I like her, she's bossy!"

Porthos snorted, Treville grinned and even d'Artagnan gave a little smile at Aramis' small attempt to lighten the mood of the room.

Silence descended again until Charlotte came into the room carrying a large pot in one hand and a pile of bowls in the other. A bunch of spoons could be seen peeking out from the pocket of her apron. Porthos hurried to her side and relieved her of the pot and put it near the fire to keep warm as instructed. The bowls and spoons went on the top of the dresser.

"I don't expect you to eat now, but I want all the stew gone by morning. It'll keep warm until you feel like eating. Is there anything else you need?" There were shaking heads all round. "I'm retiring now so if you need me later just knock on the first door to the right after you've gone through the kitchen. I bid you gentlemen goodnight." She left, leaving four men trying to get comfortable in hard wooden chairs, preparing themselves for a long night vigil.

They passed the next hour talking about their missions and reporting to Treville all that had been forgotten once they found out the injuries of their friend. They also discussed how to punish the recruits, Porthos was in favour of terminating their training straight away and denying them commissions whilst Treville tried to be diplomatic and give them a second chance although they could see that he was as dismayed by the recruits' lack of concern as his men. Aramis didn't want anything to do with them, if they couldn't look out for one of their own in peace time, what would they do in the midst of a battle?

During their hushed heated discussion, Treville disrupted them with mention of food.

"Gentlemen, we have all night to decide what to do. But for now we need to eat and be there for Athos." He leaned back and grabbed the bowls and tables from the dresser. "Porthos, pass the pot." Despite being the captain, a position which would expect someone else to serve up his food, he ladled the steaming food into the bowls and passed them round to his men.

The stew was hearty and fulfilling; had this been any other day they would be rejoicing at the good food, but at the moment it felt like lead shot at the bottom of their stomachs.

Food eaten and pot empty, Treville placed the pile of bowls and spoons and the pot outside the door and shut it quietly; he didn't want anyone else interrupting this private moment. Turning, he looked over his men, they all were looking solemn, like men that had already lost important people in their lives and couldn't bear to lose another one.

Aramis had his crucifix clasped in both hands and his lips were moving in a silent prayer. D'Artagnan was back clasping one of Athos' hands in both of his own, as if by strength of will alone he could stop death. Porthos had one hand on Aramis' knee in a gesture of support, the other on resting on Athos' free wrist, fingers deftly finding the pulse point. Treville settled back in his chair by d'Artagnan and waited.

They stayed like that all night, anxiously watching each small breath. Apart from Treville, who left a few hours before dawn to catch a little sleep before training in the morning and gave orders to waken him if Athos looked like he was getting worse, they all were silent and still. They caught a few minutes of sleep in small snatches, desperate to be awake and aware if the worst should happen and Athos slipped away.

* * *

This chapter is dedicated to my brother, who at the time of writing had his university graduation ceremony. He now has a degree in physics! My family now has the full set of science degrees (biology, chemistry and physics), I'm the odd one out with an archaeology degree.


	4. Morning

The morning revealed three stiff but relieved Musketeers, their fourth member had survived the night and was perhaps breathing a little stronger.

Aramis leaned over and brushed the back of his hand over Athos' forehead, checking his temperature.

"He lasted the night, that's a good sign. I think now the only thing we need to worry about is infection and illness; he's so weak he might not be able to fight off a fever. We just need to keep the wound clean and keep an eye on his temperature."

Treville opened the door and stepped into the room, looking relieved at hearing the good news.

"Will he alright under only your care for the day?" Aramis nodded.

"I'll need a hand trying to get some food and water into him, but other than that I can cope on my own. I was thinking of trying to get some broth down him now, if you need the others for the rest of the day. "

"Is there anything you need? I'll get your breakfast sent up while I wake the recruits."

"Clean bandages, fresh water and some cool broth. Thank you, sir."

As Treville went downstairs to speak to the landlord or his daughter, Aramis motioned to Porthos and d'Artagnan to prop Athos up as he unwound the bandages from around his midriff. As his head was settled onto Porthos' shoulder Athos made a little groaning noise but was otherwise limp. The others grinned to each other, relieved that their fourth member had just made some sign of life, no matter how little.

When the bandages were removed and the wound exposed Aramis examined it for signs of infection, but apart from a little redness, to be expected from a large wound, thankfully there were none. Treville's stitches were holding strong, though they had not yet been tested against movement, so the wound was covered in salve once more and wrapped with the bandages that the maid had just brought up.

She also brought up a jug of water and a bottle of wine, wooden cups and a bowl of the broth from yesterday's stew. She smiled at seeing the injured man still alive and under good care as she went back downstairs to retrieve the men's breakfast. By the time she re-entered the room with the tray, covered in plates of bread, cheese, cold meats and eggs and a stack of bowls and eating utensils, a steaming pot of porridge hanging in the crook of one elbow, the broth was being carefully coaxed down Athos' throat by Aramis, still propped up between his comrades. She could see that little by little he was swallowing the liquid. Not wanting to disturb this delicate moment she placed the tray and pot on the sideboard and silently retreated.

By the time Treville got back from checking on the recruits, (this was training, they had to find and make their own breakfast), Athos had been fed and watered to the best of the others abilities and they were just settling down to break their own fast. The captain grabbed a bowl of porridge and a plate of cold meats and eggs and joined them.

As they ate Porthos broke the silence.

"We still haven't decided what to do about the recruits."

"I'm going to let them have a second chance. I let you four have more chances than I bear to think about. Those who feel regret for their actions and will learn from their mistake will stay, those who do not will not be receiving their commissions. Porthos, you will lead today's training, if they don't learn their lesson after you punishing them all day they will never learn and will be sent straight back to Paris."

They all looked displeased at Treville's answer, but any objections they may have had they kept to themselves.

The rest of the meal past quickly as they discussed the itinerary of the day. Porthos was to lead the hand-to-hand training under Treville's watchful eye. Aramis was to stay with Athos and to call for the landlord's daughter to get them if anything happened. D'Artagnan was to periodically check on Aramis to see if he needed anything and for the rest of times help Porthos.

The break for lunch would be short, with the two senior musketeers (against the recruits d'Artagnan was defiantly senior) and captain taking their meals, bought from the tavern, in front of the men, whose only sustenance was the water they could get from the nearby brook (learning to fight through the pain of hunger was an essential skill for a musketeer, you never knew when you might have to skip meals and you still had to be able to function regardless, and they might as well learn it during their punishment).

The afternoon was to progress the same as the morning, and only ended when Porthos decided they had had enough. After another food-less break for the men, Treville was to take them on sword drills. Only when the sun set were they allowed back to their camp to get some food and rest.

Today wasn't going to be a pleasant day for the men who took rumour as truth and assumptions as facts.

* * *

Treville assembled the recruits on the patch of dirt and grass that separated the village from the forest. He stood in the shade with Porthos and d'Artagnan leaving the recruits in the sun, squinting in the morning light, some feeling the effects of last night's joyous drinking more painfully than others. Aramis was still in the tavern looking after their fallen friend.

Treville left shade provide by the back of the inn's stables and stood in front of the recruits with a thunderous face. With the sun's light framing him from behind he looked like a demon from the gates of hell.

"Last night you accused one of my Musketeers of being drunk. I know none of you did the honourable thing and check on him to make sure he was alright." There was silence from the recruits. "Had any of you checked you would have found him lying in the upstairs hall, bleeding to death!" He punctuated the last few words with a shout. A few of the men paled, all looked guilty. "As a musketeer you would know not to make assumptions and to find out facts for yourself, not listen to rumours and lies. Because if you do, you could be responsible for the deaths of innocent people and the loss of friends close to you. Because of your negligence and arrogance Athos could now be lying on his deathbed. He was hurt in the line of duty and you just ignored him in your revelry."

Treville regarded the group of now cowering men. "You have today to prove that you are worthy of becoming musketeers. As Athos is indisposed and Aramis is with him, the unarmed combat had been moved to today. Porthos will be leading you. If any of you are still standing by the end of it, and if Athos still lives, I will take you through sword fighting this evening. Do not mistake my leniency for forgiveness; you will not forget this day for the rest of your lives. There are consequences for your actions and your inactions and you will learn to think about them. Athos is a good friend to both Porthos and I and we both will be training you today. We will not be letting you off easy."

He turned. "Porthos, punish them as you like, just leave them in one piece. They do need to be able to get back to Paris." Treville then went back into the inn to check on Athos and Aramis.

* * *

Porthos regarded the sorry group before him with distaste. They all were young men, most of them were extra sons of nobility, put into service to gain experience in the world outside their estates, to impress and marry a noble girl or to just to get them out from under the feet of their older brothers as they learned how to be a noble. He had always hated nobles with their selfish and narrow views on the world. They didn't seem to care for anyone lower than their station. How would they feel to find out that they had injured one of their own; Athos, despite having the same noble upbringing as the lads before him, had managed to become a compassionate and conscientious man, even in his own gruff way, and was the only noble (_"I gave up the title a long time ago, don't call me Comte. Aramis stop bowing and get on with teaching d'Artagnan to shoot."_) that Porthos actually liked.

He shouted for the recruits to pair off and the training began.


	5. Foodless Lunch

NOTE: *This part deals with 12 hours hard labour whilst being denied access to food. I don't know if that is a trigger, but I thought I'd better warn for it just in case.*

* * *

Back at the tavern, Aramis was busily rummaging through the saddlebags containing his friend's possessions that the landlord had arranged to be brought up after them spending the night in the stables under the watch of the stable hands. Whilst Athos was not out of danger and still needed supervision, he didn't need a constant watch so Aramis was sorting out his friends possessions whilst they were either incapacitated or training. With Athos hurt this bad, they were going to be staying here for a while. Treville walked in as Aramis was elbow deep in dirty laundry, ready to be given to the maid, as Athos slept on in the bed beside him.

"Is he showing any sign of waking?"

"None so far. I'm hoping he'll wake up some time today. Has Porthos managed to break any of the recruits yet?" Treville gave a grin.

"Some looked like they were going to run away when I told them of last night's events. I left before Porthos started on them, so I'll have to see how many are left when I go back outside. I did warn him to keep them in once piece, but knowing his temper I hope d'Artagnan can keep him under some sort of control. I've seen what he can do to some trained Red Guards, I don't want to see what'll happen if he is let completely loose on some barely trained recruits."

Aramis gave a grin back.

"They'll never know what's hit them. Hopefully this'll teach them to look after their comrades. Though I don't think I'll ever be able to trust them, and I don't think the rest of the regiment will either, once they hear of what they thought about Athos."

Treville sighed,

"People change, Aramis. I remember you storming into my office and telling me that you would never obey the commands of a, and I quote, 'drunken, stuck up noble', and now that noble is your best friend." Aramis was chagrined.

"And that was before I knew for certain he was a noble too. But he has proven his worth a hundred times since then. All these lads have proved is that they can't be trusted with other people's lives. After this I don't think they'll have the chance to prove themselves otherwise."

"And that is way I have given them a second chance, if they don't prove that they can change and be trusted, they will not get a chance at getting their commissions." Treville cocked an ear towards the open window, listening to the shouts and groans coming from outside. "I'd better go and make sure that there are some recruits that are able to make it back to Paris any time soon." Aramis gave his captain a respectful nod and continued with his work.

Outside, some of the recruits were starting to regret their drinking the previous evening, aching muscles and heads not getting a moments respite. Porthos had paired them up and was making them fight against each other, swapping partners every so often, not letting them stop to rest for a second. He and d'Artagnan was patrolling the group, pointing out flaws in their techniques and yelling at anybody who stood still longer than the time it took to wipe the sweat out of their eyes. They weren't even allowed to stand to watch a wrestling hold being demonstrated instead the recruit's stance was roughly altered by unforgiving hands, both musketeers radiating restrained anger.

Things only got worse when Captain Treville arrived; with three pairs of eyes watching even the smallest mistake and pause was called out.

Lunchtime was a welcome and anticipated reprieve from the hard work of the morning. They were led to a small clearing in the trees next to the brook that ran past their campsite, thankful that the canopy of this part of the forest was dense enough to provide shade from the beating sun but the tree trunks were spread out enough to let a gentle breeze cool their sweaty and overheated skin. They drank their fill out of the brook and splashed water over their faces and arms as they watched d'Artagnan walk back to the tavern, expecting their food to be brought out at any moment. They were confused that after the landlord and lady left two stools and a tray by the edge of the clearing they didn't return.

"Hey, where's our lunch?" Treville span on the spot from where he was handing a seated Porthos a plate from the tray, recognising the man who had shouted as the one who had enjoyed telling him yesterday evening how drunk he thought Athos to be.

"You are not getting any lunch. The only sustenance you will be getting until the sun has set is water from the stream. Only Porthos and I will be the ones eating today."

Some were silent at this news, knowing that it was their punishment and accepting it quietly. Others protested loudly, stating that their fathers would be told, and that in turn the King would be told that the leader of the Musketeers was mistreating his troops.

Treville was unforgiving of those who protested.

"Do you not realise that this is a punishment?!" he yelled. "Your actions nearly lead to the loss of one of my best men. This is not meant to be a walk through a delicately manicured garden, it is a demonstration of what you will face if you were to achieve your commission. Any Musketeer would tell you that serving the king is not about victory and glory. It is about laying down your life in the protection of your king and your country and everything that I make you learn in training is in preparation of your service. Some may even say that the training is easy in comparison to what they have faced in the line of duty. One of my men even spent three days in the snow with no food and no shelter with the bodies of twenty of his comrades and he still serves with me today. Some of you at this moment are not worthy enough to lick his boots let alone be one of his brothers-in-arms." The protesters quietened down and tried to hide in the shadows from where they sat. "If anybody wishes to leave now, they will not be stopped, but they will never get another chance of getting commissions with the Musketeers." He paused, taking a deep breath and continued in a quieter voice. "You have a half an hour break, gentlemen. Rest while you can."

Treville then settled down on his stool and took his plate of food from Porthos with a smile, as if what had just happened hadn't.

* * *

"D'Artagnan! How are the recruits doing? I heard a lot of unpleasant noises, so I know that some are left alive."

"The recruits are still in one piece, though all are looking the worst for wear already. I'm glad I went through my training with you, I don't think I would have survived with this lot! They are about to watch Treville and Porthos eat their lunch and I've asked that our lunch get sent up. How's Athos?"

"No change so far," replied Aramis. "Do you think you could help me lift him up? There should be some broth for him with our lunch." D'Artagnan nodded as he sat gingerly on the edge of the bed and clasped a limp hand in his lap.

Aramis mirrored him on Athos' other side and started mopping the prone man's brow with a cloth dampened in the bowl of water in his lap. D'Artagnan looked at him in concerned confusion.

"I thought you said that he hadn't changed?"

"He has only got a little warmer, I'm hoping to cool him down before it becomes a fever. The wound is clean so we can only hope that it is a reaction to the pain and the shock of the wound, rather than an illness. "

As the first steps on the stairs were heard, the silence from outside was broken. Though the exact words were not understandable, Treville's voice was clearly heard.

"He doesn't sound very happy." remarked d'Artagnan.

"Your captain seems to have a bit of a temper on him," said the voice from the doorway; Charlotte was holding a tray which smelt enticing, even from where they sat. "I can see how he keeps you all in line! I would pity those lads outside, but Captain Treville seems like a fair man so they probably deserve his temper."

"The captain only loses his temper when provoked." Aramis agreed and was sure to neglect to mention that him and his three inseparables had been on the receiving end of Treville's wrath on more than several occasions, though they knew never to push him far enough to get their commissions revoked. "My guess it that the recruits have just found out they won't be eating till sundown."

"How is your man doing? He seems to be getting a little of his colour back and the broth I've brought up for him is sure to do him the world of good – my mother used to make it for me and my sisters when we were ill as children."

"Well he's away from death's door for the moment, but it's just a matter of time to see if he gets an infection. And he's not going to be able to ride very easily with that wound so we'll be in your hair for a while yet."

"I don't mind how long you stay. You conscientious gentlemen are a refreshing change from the usual drunken farmers and traders that we usually get around here. And I'm always happy to help the King's Musketeers." She gave the tray to Aramis and turned towards the door. "If you need me you know where to find me," she said and left.

They ate their lunch whilst it was still warm before preparing to feed Athos. It was just as delicious as it had smelt and the broth for their injured friend was sure to be the same.

As the lifted him up, the body in their arms jerked suddenly and tried to struggle weakly. A slurred "wha?" came out of his mouth.

"Athos, my friend, calm down. You are hurt but you are safe. It's only me, Aramis and d'Artagnan." Athos not so much calmed as went unexpectedly limp. Aramis, alarmed, hurriedly sought for a pulse, but relaxed when he found one. "He's passed out again. Hopefully next time he won't wake up panicked. I'll take that brief awakening as a sign that he will wake again."

"Why did he pass out again so quickly? Asked d'Artagnan.

"It's the blood loss," replied Aramis. "I've seen men collapse by just sitting up too fast after gaining a grievous injury. It's worrying to watch but ultimately not life threatening if we keep an eye on him. Athos is going to have to take it easy for a while. Let's get this broth into him."

The procedure went as smoothly as it had that morning and soon they were lowering their companion onto the bed again and wiping away stray drops of broth out of his beard.

Aramis turned an ear towards the open window and listened as sounds of movement from outside began again. "The Captain and Porthos must be finished eating by now," he said to d'Artagnan. "You go and supervise the recruits, I can handle here for a bit. And thanks for the help."


	6. The Training Finally Ends

When d'Artagnan entered the training area again the recruits had already been tasked to spar, in a repeat of the morning. Spotting him, Treville and Porthos made their way over.

"How's Athos doin'?" Asked Porthos when he reached him.

"He woke up just as we were ready to get some broth into him, but he passed out again a few seconds later," d'Artagnan replied. "Aramis says that he woke is a good sign and we've got to keep an eye on his passing out."

Porthos grinned at him in relief and clapped a large hand on his shoulder, hard enough to make him stagger.

"The man's a fighter. He'll be alright."

* * *

As the afternoon waned on the recruits started to wear out, some even collapsing onto their knees in exhaustion. D'Artagnan was put on water duty, helping those that could not stand into the shade by the brook and watching those going for a drink to make sure they weren't hanging round longer than they needed to.

* * *

Treville called another break mid afternoon, a few hours after the hottest part of the day. The recruits sat and laid on the grass silently, too tired to strike up any sort of conversation amongst themselves. A few were looking at their instructors and glaring at them when their backs were turned but most just looked sorry for themselves, Porthos figured that those ones wouldn't forget this day in a hurry, the others probably wouldn't be getting their commissions if they didn't show any improvements in character.

After the break Treville was less stern on the recruits than he was for the earlier part of the day, not that they realised, they were noticeably flagging and he didn't want to kill them, only punish them. Porthos and d'Artagnan noticed what their captain was doing and relaxed their attention too.

During the day the recruits had unintentionally spread out in their pairs in the open area, which had the unexpected consequence that if the three instructors were at one end of the area quiet conversation could be taken at the other.

One man had managed slow enough to get his breath back, as the heat of the day was beginning to fade, long enough to tell his sparring partner and friend what he had been thinking of since Treville's outburst at lunchtime.

Anton turned to Ambroise whilst the three Musketeers were distracted with another sparring pair.

"I know which of the Musketeers it was that spent those three days in the snow, it was after a massacre in Savoy, near my homelands. I don't know how he is still sane and serving after that."

"Because of the love and care of his brothers," said a soft voice behind them, surprising them. "And I wonder myself how he manages to carry that experience with him and still be such a happy man. Don't tell anybody who that Musketeer was, it'll only bring up unpleasant memories and unwanted attention. Now be quiet, the Captain is still on the warpath." Porthos wandered off to the other side of the group, leaving the two friends wondering at the gentle side of the man that had just spent the entire day shouting at them.

* * *

A few hours before dusk, at the time when dinner was usually served, the wrestling was called to a halt and the recruits were escorted back to their camp to get their swords and carefully scrutinized in the process to make sure that none of them snuck in a few mouthfuls of food whilst they were there. They rested by the brook again for a short time and were made to care for their blades and to make sure they weren't damaged in any way. The innkeeper had brought out a small meal of early fruits, cold meats and bread and a bottle of wine to share which Porthos, d'Artagnan and Treville dug into, keeping one eye on the hungry recruits. Aramis would have to cope on his own as d'Artagnan was needed with them to help keep an eye on a few of the men who increasingly looked like they would cause some trouble.

Once they had all caught their breath again and their instructors had finished their small meal, Treville ordered the tired men up and back into the training area, pairing them up as they did when they were sparing before. This time the air was filled with sound of metal hitting metal, the clanging of which could be heard throughout the village as the villagers were finishing up their jobs for the day. Some had even stopped to watch and were leaning against the back of the tavern to keep out of the way, in awe at the skill of the Musketeers as they showed the recruits some of their moves.

* * *

As darkness started to fall Treville called the training at an end and they all gathered back at the camp to start the fires. All the men looked relieved and exhausted and some were hunched over their stomachs. Porthos remembers well the times as a child when he would go for days without food, scrounging what he could from the markets to give to the younger and sicker children of the Court in the coldest and darkest part of winter. He had no sympathy for some young men who had been well fed all of their lives, they had only been hungry for 12 hours, not days.

D'Artagnan ran back into the tavern to let the landlord know that training was over and it was time for the recruit's food to be brought out and to check on Athos and Aramis. He reappeared a few minutes later with the landlord and his daughter, all carrying trays, and to Treville and Porthos' surprise, Aramis by his side. They looked at him concerned and when he reached the camp Porthos anxiously asked

"What are you doing out here? Is Athos ok?" Aramis smiled at him.

"Athos is no longer in any immediate danger and he's been in and out of sleep all afternoon and I think by now he is sick of the sight of me so I thought I'd leave him alone for a few minutes and stretch my legs. Have this lot been behaving?"

Treville directed him out of the group's earshot before answering the question, leaving Porthos to oversee the men as d'Artagnan helped the dish out the food.

"Most of them have behaved and taken the punishment without question, but there are a few that have talked back and just on their general demeanour the last few days I don't think are fit to be Musketeers. Specifically Roland d'Avesnes, but Guillaume de Crévant and Louis Blanc seem to following his lead the closest."

"But Louis is a commoner and Roland seems to dislike anyone who is not in the noble classes," said Aramis. "At least that's what it seemed to me when I met them before I left the garrison a few days ago."

"You are correct. Louis seems to be trying to climb the social ladder and is using Roland to do it, even though his disdain for him is quite obvious. But still Louis is trying to impress him."

"I don't envy your position as I'm assuming you are going to decline them any invitation to get commissions." Treville nodded. " With your permission I'd better get back to Athos, he'll be trying to escape his bed if left alone for too long. That man never stays still when injured."

"You and the others are no better. Go back to him, we'll join you later."


	7. Dinner and Shouting

Finally the next chapter! Yay! I should warn that one of the characters gets a bit nasty towards our four boys, though I don't think what he says is that bad. The worst of it is that Aramis is called a slut and Porthos a slave. I couldn't think of anything worse to say about them, I love them too much! And I've almost caught posting here what I have on AO3, only one chapter behind now.

I hope everybody had a good holiday, whatever it was you celebrated, and I look forward to an exciting 2015. And the first episode of season 2 of The Musketeers is tomorrow! Can't wait!

* * *

When the men finished eating (or in some men's case sucking down the food as they didn't seem to chew in an attempt to get it into their stomach in the quickest time possible, which looked like it made some of them feel a little queasy afterwards), Treville turned to the group.

"Last night you witnessed a man stumbling into the tavern, badly hurt but you all assumed that he was drunk. Had you checked you would have found that he had a very serious wound. Luckily for you Athos survived the night and woke up today. Barring any infections he should be fit for active duty in a month or so." A large number of the recruits relaxed in relief. "Today was meant to be a punishment and a test which most of you passed. You took your punishment without question and I hope that it has been a lesson in action and consequence. You have proved that you regret your actions and that you are worthy of eventually becoming Musketeers. A few of you though do not have the character to be in this elite regiment. Roland d'Avesnes, last night you told me that Athos was drunk when he came in, what made you think that? Did you ask him what was wrong?"

Roland's nose crumpled in disgust.

"I didn't need to ask him, everyone knows that he spends more time in a bottle than outside it. There was a Red Guard back in Paris that said that he was always drunk. It was probably the drink that made him slow and got him injured in the first place." Treville was incensed at this insult to his man, though when he spoke he managed to keep his voice mostly calm and level.

"Athos is one of my finest men, he is never drunk on duty, which cannot be said for the Red Guards, of whom you are ready to believe without any evidence. This is why I am stopping your training right here. You accept any information without checking the facts and you show no remorse for your assumptions and actions. You leave for Paris in the morning; you will not be receiving a commission in this regiment." The man stood up in fury, empty plate flying, fists clenched in anger.

"I am of noble birth, I am the son of the Comte de Hainaut, I have every right to receive my commission, more than that alcohol soaked wretch you call your best man. Commoners do not have the breeding to be fit for the elite regiments. Only the pure noble blood can achieve that greatness!" The other recruits shrunk back in terror at his shouting.

"Roland, get out of my sight, you are not fit to become a Musketeer." Treville shouted back.

"Why would I want to become a Musketeer if your 'best men' are drunks, sluts, boys and slaves." Roland yelled in reply. "That slut of yours sleeps with so many women, I'm surprised he even has time to be a soldier."

Porthos strode over to the man and slammed him into a nearby tree, one arm pressed against his throat in a warning. It didn't stop the taunts.

"You gutter rat, you are not worthy to be a Musketeer. All you are good for is to be a slave, you have risen too far above your station." Porthos tightened his grip around his throat until he didn't have the breath to release the rest of his insults.

"You claim that Athos does not have noble breeding," he growled back, "well you are wrong. Athos is the Comte de la Fere, a noble just like you, only he holds a higher standing in court than your family. If he wanted your head on a pike he only needs to give the word. You were wrong and you hurt one of your own."

Two of the recruits stood up in defence of their friend.

"Get your hands off him, slave!"

D'Artagnan recognised the voice to belong to Guillaume, Louis at his side, both furious and Louis was holding a dagger. His fingers itched to wield his pistol in defence of his friend but knew that he couldn't shoot a recruit, no matter how deserving the recruit was to receive a lump of hot lead in a knee cap.

"Louis, Guillaume, you have thrown your lot in with Roland," proclaimed the Captain. "Your misplaced loyalty has cost you your commissions. You leave for Paris tomorrow."

"WHAT!" shouted Guillaume, face turning red in his fury. "Why should commissions go to the lower classes and not to us? They are worthless and expendable, fit for the army but not the _elite Musketeers_." Treville didn't answer and regarded him with an unimpressed stare.

Louis showed his rage with actions over words, rushing to rescue his 'friend'. Roland was slowly turning purple under Porthos' hands, not able to voice his protests though just about able to breathe. D'Artagnan was standing by the tavern owners as they had been piling the plates onto trays, though they had stopped to watch the goings on with increasing horror, so he was too far away to stop the man rushing furiously towards his friend with a sharp blade in hand.

The Captain, through experience, had predicted his action and had managed to stand between Porthos and the lunging recruit. Treville intercepted him on his way, disarmed him and threw him to the ground.

"Stand down, Louis, STAND DOWN!"

The other recruits, still sitting on the ground, huddled together in terror and shock, not what they expected to witness in a training exercise! Some of them had grown up in safe isolation and couldn't believe that people like this really existed outside the books in their father's libraries.

Guillaume seethed on the spot, wanting to express his anger but knowing that the Captain had the upper hand in this situation he stilled any words and actions.

Treville turned his head slightly towards the men against the tree whilst keeping an eye on the other two troublemakers, Louis still sprawled on the floor slightly stunned.

"Porthos," he said, "let him go." Porthos did as he was instructed and retracted his forearm from against Roland's throat. The man gave a gasp of air before Porthos pushed him harshly towards Louis. He stumbled a few steps but kept his balance. Guillaume still stood where he was.

"You three," said Treville, anger carefully controlled in his voice. He gave them harsh stares so they knew that he was talking to them. "Get out of my sight before I hand you over to the local magistrate for disruptive behaviour. I expect you to be on your way home before mid morning tomorrow."

Knowing that they were defeated and that detention in the local gaol was a horrid thing to contemplate (and just adding more shame onto the inevitable dressing down from their fathers and mocking from their friends) they slunk off between the trees back to their tents to fetch their belongings to create their own camp away from the main group. The rest of the recruits noticeably relaxed when the troublesome three disappeared.

With the nervous tension gone the two innkeepers finished clearing the plates and d'Artagnan helped them carry the heavily laden trays back to the tavern.

"If they cause any trouble find me in the inn and I'll get them to the gaol," said Treville to those that remained. "They have used up all of their last chances and I won't tolerate any harassment from them." With their murmur of acceptance and agreement he left them to try and enjoy the last of their evening.

As Porthos passed to join his friends back in the building he was stopped by a couple of the recruits.

"Is Athos really a Comte?" Asked Ambroise, one of the recruits he had spoken to earlier. He was surrounded by a small group of young men, mostly from minor noble or common families, all with awe in their faces and eagerly awaiting at the answer to the question. It seemed that the sudden revelation of his friend's social status had put Athos on a pedestal in their eyes. Porthos was quick to squash the awe.

"Yes, although he left his title and lands years ago and he doesn't like being reminded of his past. He is a Musketeer and that is all you need to know, so treat him as such, not as a noble. If I find any of you treating him any different you'll be mucking out the horses and cleaning out the garrison chamber pots for months. If _he_ catches you, your punishment will be much worse."

He left the men discussing what punishment was worse than cleaning up horse and human muck for months and bid them a good night.


	8. How Athos got hurt

Here is the long awaited chapter where we find out how Athos gets hurt. I wasn't going to go into much detail into what happened but then I was surprised how many of you wanted to know so I wrote this! I hope it lives up to your expectations. *crosses fingers*

Idiot me forgot I was a chapter behind here compared to AO3 so I've got chapter 9 all ready to post but I can't post it yet! I'll give it a few days so people can catch up with this chapter then chapter 9 will follow.

* * *

When Porthos entered Athos' room he was unsurprised to find Aramis, d'Artagnan and Captain Treville sat around his bedside. What did surprise him, and gladdened him, was Athos sitting up in his bed, swaddled in many blankets, slowly nibbling and mostly poking at a bowl of stew. He was still as pale as before but sitting up with his eyes open meant that he didn't look quite so death like as he had that morning.

Aramis was sitting on the side of his bed watching Athos eat like a worried mother hen fussing over her only chick.

"You lost a lot of blood, Athos. At least drink the broth if nothing else. You need to regain your strength." Athos gave him his usual unimpressed glare though it wasn't up to its usual intensity.

He returned to poking the stew with his spoon, eyes and head down and shoulders hunched forwards, not looking at anyone. There seemed to be something troubling him, but being Athos he wasn't going to share readily and would need some careful coxing to get him to speak his mind.

Treville saw Porthos enter and waved him towards the single empty chair left for him.

Athos dropped the spoon into the bowl with a sigh and pushed it into Aramis' hands. His friend also sighed but accepted it and placed it on the floor under the bed out of the way but within reach if Athos wanted to eat again, though that was looking unlikely as he was now staring at his hands curled up in his lap, looking miserable. Once Porthos was settled on his chair the Captain turned towards his injured lieutenant.

"Athos," Treville said and Athos' head perked up a little at the sound of the Captain saying his name. "What happened on your mission? How did you get injured?" The mask of formality settled over his face as his head rose to meet the eyes of Treville and he recalled what had happened. With his usual calm settled over him as he spoke, Porthos didn't think that what was troubling his had to do with his mission.

"I delivered the messages to Saint-Siméon and Saint-Augustin as was instructed," he said, "and visited the Templar Commanderie at Coulommiers. The monks are prepared for the visit of the King and Queen later in the month and the security arrangements all seem sound. My notes should be secured in my saddlebag, I'm afraid I had to leave them in the stables so I do not know their exact position at present."

"I have them, Athos," says Treville. "They are safe, if a little bloodied. The wax seal was still intact so I do not think we need to change the security arrangements mentioned within." Athos nodded in relief.

"All proceeded with no trouble until I left Mouroux to return here. I was set upon by 5 men, vagabonds, perhaps highwaymen, based on their dress. I managed to kill 3 of them before I was hurt, the other two ran off soon after. I didn't stick around to see where they had gone."

* * *

_Past_

The morning was warm but not overly hot, a nice cooling contrast to the few scorching hot days that had just past. There was a nice breeze too, rustling the leaves in the bushes and the long grass either side of the dirt road, causing the wheat in the fields on the other side of the hedges to wave alternating shades of golden brown. The clouds overhead promised a cooler day and they didn't show the grey of rain anywhere between the horizons. The road was not known for any random attacks on its travellers, though he had heard reports of attacks on neighbouring tracks and roadways miles away, and it was an easy ride to the town where he would spend the next few days. It seemed like it would be a good day.

He was looking forward to seeing his brothers though it was only a few days that they had been apart. His memories didn't haunt him quite so badly when they were around. He wasn't looking quite so forward to training the recruits; though most of them seemed smart and willing to learn, if a little naïve of what musketeering really entailed, it was a certain few that he didn't like the look of. He didn't usually dismiss a person without giving them a chance to prove themselves, but these recruits didn't seem like they would be good Musketeer material, more like future Red Guards in temperament. But he had to give them a chance, despite what his instincts were telling him.

He ate his lunch on the ride, going at a gentle pace so to not tire his horse, which had been watered at a stream only an hour before. The monks had been generous had supplied him well with food as he had left them that morning after spending the night. Freshly baked bread, cheese, cured meats, dried fish and a bottle of their own brewed cider kept him company on the ride. The local brie that the monks had given him was delicious.

As he was eating his lunch he passed from open fields into dense woodland. The light in here was darker and it took him a few seconds for his eyes to adjust to the dim light. But before they could fully so do there was a shout and a loud bang.

The shot passed him wide as the horse shifted sideways in anxiety then halted, trained for combat as it was. He dropped the bread in his hand as he reached for both pistol and sword. The pistol was thrown away in seconds after firing its load, felling one of the men rushing towards him. He counted four men standing as he parried the sword aimed at his heart. It was hard to keep track of them all, as surrounded as he was without at least one of his brothers at his back and he wished he had had chance to dismount, as it would be easier to fight and defend against them all. That wish was granted in a way as he was grabbed from behind and flung painfully to the floor.

He rolled onto his feet, narrowly avoiding the sword blow that would have decapitated him. Another sword whooshed past him as he struggled his way upright, the tip slicing through the skin on his wrist in a glancing blow leaving a small cut behind. He parried another and span to identify where each of his attackers were. One or two of them looked a little wary, seemingly expecting him to be an easy kill once they got him off his horse.

After a very brief pause they rushed at him again and he managed to slice open the throat of one man whilst ducking the blade of another and kicking out the knee of the third. Two men dead, three left.

Two of the three men still standing hung back a little to let their third, evidently the swordsman of their little ragtag group, have more room to fight. The man sneered at Athos then lunged, Athos bringing his sword up to block his opponent's blow, metal singing between their two bodies. He was glad of the respite to fight only one person, though this man obviously had training and was putting up a good fight.

Seemingly impatient to see the death of their opponent and unwilling to wait for the victory of their friend, the two men threw themselves into the fray again. Athos was distracted for a second, trying to block a sword thrust at his back which gave his main opponent the opportunity to get past his defences. He managed to avoid taking the blade in his stomach but didn't manage to escape it entirely. Fire burned at his side as the sword sliced through cloth and skin but he didn't outwardly acknowledge it. The pain may have been a big distraction but he was well trained in fighting, even fogged by pain he saw that the move to injure him had left his opponent exposed to his own attack. Taking the chance he thrust his sword forward, piercing the man in the chest, a fatal wound.

Three dead.

There was a shout as he withdrew his sword and the final two ran off into the woods as the body of their comrade fell, either running away in defeat and fear of their lives as this mark was surprisingly hard to kill or to gather reinforcements. Either way it seemed that they didn't know that he had been injured, surely if they knew they would have continued the attack until he weakened enough for them to get through his defences. He wasn't going to stay here and find out what was going to happen. With one hand on his wound quickly covering in blood he spied his discarded pistol. Picking it up was painful and he had to bend his knees to reach it, trying not to use the muscles in his torso which pulled on the gash. His horse, thankfully, was not far away and it seemed that all his saddlebags were all accounted for and intact. Mounting was also painful but somehow he managed it.

He rode along the road for a few painful minutes before stopping at a small clearing where the light in the woods was brighter. He wasn't that far from where he was attacked but he couldn't go any further without treating his wound. He would just have to be quick and hope that he wasn't found.

He searched his saddle bags for his medical supplies, uncaring that his blood covered fingers were causing a mess. His fingers brushed against parchment at first, then a roll of bandages that he pulled out. He thought about stitching the wound but he couldn't see it well enough and his hands were shaking too much with pain to do even a half way passable job. Also it would be quicker just to wrap the wound so that he could get to the town and proper treatment faster. He couldn't stop for long in case the people that attacked him brought back any friends that also may try and go after him. He also couldn't dismount, not only would it be quicker to get away if he was found, but there was a distinct possibility that once he got off his horse he may not be able to get back on it.

He wrapped the bandages tightly around his middle under his jacket but over his shirt. It would take too long to fight his way under the blood sodden cloth and it was ruined anyway. As he tied the knot he hoped that it would stem the bleeding enough for him to make it back to the meeting point. He had a few more hours of pain filled riding yet.

He took the opportunity to reload his pistol and stowed it safely within reach in case he was set upon again, knowing this time he probably wouldn't be able to fight them off.

He kicked his heels into the horse's side and rode off, holding onto the hope that his brothers would be at the tavern to meet him and treat his injury.

* * *

Poor Athos, after all that his brothers weren't there to meet him. :( This was my first time writing a fighting scene, I hope I did alright!

All the places I have mentioned here are places that I have visited on a holiday to that part of France a few years ago. Though I did try and do a little research on them I don't know if they were in existence in the 1700s. Going though the town of Mouroux always amused me as the name reminded me of the book 'The Island of Doctor Moreau'. On that same holiday I visited the Chateaux de Pierrefonds, then the filming set of 'Merlin', imagine my surprise and delight that when I discovered 'The Three Musketeers' I found out that Porthos ends up owning it! I've got photos from there if any of you arty types want to use them to draw Baron Porthos in his castle. I have also had the local cheese, which though was really, really stinky, I, like Athos, deemed it delicious.


	9. Guilt and Confessions

Otherwise known as the chapter where Athos needs a hug.

Sorry this one took so long! I lost the motivation for it back when season 2 was being aired and then I got distracted by Tumblr (I've got a new name and url now!). I think there is going to be one more chapter after this, though I wouldn't be surprised of it turns out there are two. I'll just have to see how it goes. Fingers crossed the wait for the next one won't be as long as the wait for this one!

Apologies to my reviewers who haven't had any reply. I'm rather useless about replying but I always read them and I love them. I'll be answering all those reviews that need it shortly!

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_Present_

"They attacked me when I was on the Paris road, the ones I killed might still be there if you wish to find out who they were. The local farmers might know something about them as well, it wasn't mentioned in any of the villages I went through," said Athos, completing his report. Captain Treville nodded.

"I'll send a message to the garrison and send some men out. We can't send the recruits and I'd rather have all of you here together for now. For my benefit with the current situation with the recruits, as well as keeping you company, Athos. I'll leave you four alone if there is nothing else to report; I've got a letter to write. That road has to be clear of any danger before I'll allow their Majesties along it."

When nothing else was said he bid his Musketeers good evening and went to his own room.

There was a tense silence. At the departure of Treville Athos seemed to retreat back on himself, staring at his hands again, picking at the blood that had embedded itself under his fingernails that the others hadn't manage to wash off him the day before.

D'Artagnan also fiddled with his hands in his lap, it seemed there was something troubling the young man too. Before Aramis could ask him what it was that was occupying him, words rushed out of the young man, leaden with guilt.

"I'm sorry, Athos. I should have gone with you. It was my fault that you got hurt. I heard the reports of the bandits in the area and I should have gone with you to back you up. You wouldn't have got hurt if I was there. Strength in numbers."

Athos' head rose at the admission, brow furrowing in dismay. He looked the youngest in the eye.

"Peace, d'Artagnan. If you had been there you may have gotten hurt as well, or even killed. It happened as it happened, there is no need to blame yourself for something you had no control over. Our paths were close enough that they could have just as easily attacked you and Aramis instead of me. The villages I went through didn't know that there were bandits in the area. You are not to blame. Understand?"

D'Artagnan gave Athos a small smile in return and didn't push the issue, no matter the guilt pooling at the bottom of his stomach. Statement made, Athos went back to picking at his fingernails.

Aramis was still sitting on the side of Athos' bed, hovering uncertainly, unable to work out what was troubling his friend and therefore unable to help. Athos grew tired of his silent mothering and gave him a small shove, toppling him slightly. "Aramis, get off," he said. "I'm not going anywhere. You don't have to look at me like I'm going to suddenly become ill as soon as you look away."

Aramis retreated back into his chair with an apologetic grin.

Athos then suddenly recalled what Treville had said earlier.

"What did Treville mean when he said there was a situation with the recruits?"

"One of the recruits was bad mouthing us and two others joined in. Roland, Guillaume and Louis have been dismissed from training and they will be on their way back home tomorrow." Athos looked at them discerningly.

"What aren't you not telling me? Did they say something? What were they saying about us?" Aramis looked guilty but tried to sound upbeat.

"Only that they disapproved of the rumours about my love of women, nothing troubling."

"Aramis, I can tell you are lying. Did they say something about me?" Athos tried to glare at his friend but it lacked its usual intensity, just showing how tired and in pain he was.

"Why would you think they said something about you? They were just being mean and spouting untruths. They called Porthos a slave!"

Athos sighed and spoke in a quiet voice so unlike his normal confident tones, eyes glued to his hands again.

"When I came into the tavern the blood loss was making me unsteady on my feet. Roland shouted that I was drunk and the rest of the recruits jeered at me. I bet that is what he was calling me today." The look on Aramis' face told him all that he needed to know without him uttering a word. Athos looked crushed and refused to look any of his friends in the eyes, staring at his hands again.

"If the recruits know what a waste of a person I am, what do other people think? I don't want to bring dishonour upon the regiment; it is the only thing I have left worth living for. I am thankful every day for your friendship, but if I can't fight beside you, what good am I for anything?"

He hung his head in misery and the sight of his distraught friend broke Aramis' heart. Moving to sit gently beside Athos on the bed he drew him into a tight but soft embrace. Athos curled into his friend, resting his head on the offered shoulder and fisting his hands in his shirt.

Athos turned his head slightly to see Porthos settle beside Aramis and place two large comforting hands on his knees whilst d'Artagnan sandwiched Athos from his other side.

Treville, who had finished his letter and had been about to re-enter the room but hung back when he heard what was being spoken about, regarded his men through the doorway with tender relief, knowing that with all four inseparables together, they could withstand any storm. It may take a while but they will eventually convince Athos of his worth. Again. And repeated until such time as it would never have to be repeated again. Damn that betraying, soul shattering ex-wife of his.

Aramis drew back slightly, trying to get a look at the face resting on his shoulder.

"Athos?" he asked. Porthos leaned round to get a better look.

"I think he's fallen asleep again." Aramis drew him closer again, cradling his friend to his chest like a child.

"He needs his rest. With that wound he needs to be kept in bed for as long as we can keep him whilst it heals."

Treville revealed himself from behind the doorframe and says, "I'll try and keep you lot together so he behaves for as long as I can but I am going to need your help with training. Aramis, will you be able to lead the shooting training tomorrow whilst Porthos looks after Athos? D'Artagnan, if you wouldn't mind taking the same role as you did today?" All three men nodded in agreement, Athos still held in Aramis' arms.

"Then I'll see you gentlemen in the morning," he replied and leaves the room, shutting the door behind him, heading towards the tap room for a drink and to give the inn keeper the letter he had just written to pass on to a messenger. With luck it would be at the garrison tomorrow night.

The remaining three turn their attentions back onto the sleeping man in their midst. None of them seemed willing to leave his side, as if they were trying to comfort him even as he slept. But with a sigh and look towards his brothers Aramis started lowering Athos to be bed, aided by two other pairs of hands to make the journey from near vertical to horizontal as gentle as possible.

"He can be left alone tonight," says Aramis, once all three men were back on their chairs, "as long as we check for fever first thing in the morning. His wound is clean so it'll take the night for anything to take hold. But he is strong so he'll be all right." He spots d'Artagnan trying to hide a yawn behind a hand and suppresses the urge to yawn himself. "I suggest we retire to our own rooms before we fall asleep here. After last night's sleepless night I think we all need to go and get some rest." Porthos grumbles in agreement and hauls a still yawning d'Artagnan up from his chair by the elbow.

"Up you get, Pup. I think all that excitement today has worn you out, and Aramis'll need you in top shape for tomorrow." When the pair reaches the doorway Porthos looks back at Aramis, who is standing but has not moved from the bedside. "Don't stay with him too long. You need to rest for tomorrow too." Aramis gives him a small smile and a nod before two sets of footsteps disappear into to nearby rooms.

Aramis gives Athos one last check over before he too retires; checking his temperature, taking a peek under the bandages to look at the wound and for a moment just stops to watch him breath. He knows he is fussing but he needs to put his mind at rest for one last time before he can relax into sleep.

Athos sleeps on soundly, obviously his brief awakening had exhausted him despite the long time he had slept beforehand.

Satisfied that all is well, Aramis quietly shuts the door behind him before heading for a long awaited sleep in his own bed.

* * *

An hour later Treville too retires for the night. He sticks his head into Athos' room as he makes his way to bed, pleased to find that the other three were in their rooms, hopefully resting, and that Athos was sleeping deeply, seemingly untroubled by his wound.

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	10. All is Well

_I can't believe that this is chapter 10! Sorry about the long wait, I've been really busy (I'm so, so sorry, I promised on Tumblr that I would have this done by my birthday and that was 8 days ago! But in my defence I am preparing for a Christmas craft fair and haven't had much time to do anything other than sleep and make.) but here's a longer than usual chapter to make up for it! And, err, it seems I can't write a Musketeers fic without any snuggling in it somewhere. It's only small but I think it counts. I think I have a problem._

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Aramis woke into the dim light of his room in the inn. The candle he had left burning on the bedside cabinet was low but not yet out. It was barely two inches high when he lit it so he couldn't have been asleep long, a few hours at most. Uncertain of what had woken him and not hearing anything of immediate danger a hand went to his main gauche under his pillow. He gave the room a quick look over and finding nothing untoward he crept towards the door, dagger in hand. He opened the door soundlessly and found that all doors were closed and the murmur of voices from the taproom downstairs sounded normal. He shut the door again, leaning against it with his free hand and rubbing his eyes with the back of the other. He sighed to himself, wondering what it could have been that woke him up. Now that the perceived danger had passed sleep was creeping up on him fast, his legs seemed heavy and the distance between door and bed seemed too far to try and cross.

There was a cry from the room next door. It was quiet and barely perceivable over the muted din from the floor below but the walls were thin and with the room otherwise silent Aramis could just about hear it.

The room next door.

Athos!

All thoughts of sleep were now gone as he wrenched open the door and barged into Athos' room. There was no one in there, other than the injured man, who was murmuring incomprehensibly and shifting restlessly where he lay. Finding no danger Aramis shut the door to keep both of their privacy and hurried to the bedside. His main gauche was dropped to the floor as he used both hands to try to still the figure of his friend. One had brushed his forehead, thankfully finding it cool before moving down to pull up the hem of his shirt so that he could get a look at the wound. Thankfully the bandages were clean and white so it didn't look like Athos had torn the stitches, though he would have a look under the bandages once Athos has stilled.

The other hand rested on Athos' shoulder, pinning it onto the bed, but he released the pressure when Athos only struggled harder under the restraint.

"Athos, calm. It is me, Aramis. Quiet, you are safe," he mutters, hoping that is voice would penetrate Athos' dreams and soothe the demons that seemed to have appeared. "I am with you, my friend. Peace."

He sits on the side of the bed and starts to pet Athos' hair, continuing the litany of peaceful words. He also starts gently rubbing his arms, in a calming way he hopes.

Eventually the dream subsides. Aramis takes the chance to unwind the bandages from around his friend's waist and examine the wound underneath. The Captain's stitches have held, thankfully, Aramis had not been looking forward to the prospect of putting in a new set of stitches at this time of night.

Bandages replaced, a huge yawn retakes Aramis, reminding him how tired he was. Unwilling to leave his patient alone again he stretches himself out on the bed beside Athos and takes him in his arms, careful to keep pressure off his injured side. It is a tight space but with the close contact neither of them are imminently going to meet the floor. He hopes that the contact will also keep Athos' nightmares at bay.

He drops off to sleep again fairly quickly but is roused again when Porthos creeps into the room.

"Don't mind me," he says as he quietly moves a chair to the bedside, "I was just wanting to make sure he's ok." Aramis shuts his eyes and sleeps again, barely awakening to the feel of d'Artagnan settling at the end of the bed.

Athos was safe and his other two friends were with them. All was ok. Calm. Sleep.

* * *

Treville was surprised but not shocked when he entered Athos' room the next morning to find the other three of their little group had migrated there during the night.  
Aramis was cradling Athos in his arms, both lying together in the small bed. Sleeping upright, legs propped up on the bed and snoring loudly was Porthos, his chair placed so close to the bed it seemed like it was there to make sure the men on it didn't fall out. In fact it seemed like Athos was leaning back and resting against Porthos' side. Curled at the foot of the bed, and positioned around his bed mates' feet was d'Artagnan, his own feet and head hanging slightly off the sides.

He shuts the door quietly behind himself with a fond smile as he goes downstairs and outside to check on the recruits, leaving the group to sleep a few minutes more.

* * *

It was d'Artagnan that Treville woke up first with a shake to the shoulder. Aramis had a tendency to jump if not woken gently and with an injured Athos in his arms the Captain was reluctant to attempt to rouse him, and Porthos, if jolted out of sleep, quite often woke up swinging his fists, a relic of his childhood in the slums of Paris. He was surprised that none of them had been awoken either of the times he had opened the door, but he guessed that they must have been exhausted after a sleepless night worrying over their friend. To be frank, Treville longed for more sleep in his own bed but the discipline of his years as a soldier meant that he could easily push that desire aside.

"Captain?" D'Artagnan murmured, blinking away the sleep in his eyes as he regarded the owner of the hand on his shoulder.

"Breakfast is downstairs for you and training starts in an hour," says Treville. "I'll be waiting for you and Aramis outside."

D'Artagnan nods and rubs his eyes with a fist and a yawn. Using a foot he nudges Porthos' feet off where they were resting on the edge of the bed. The Captain steps back as Porthos wakes up suddenly as his feet hit the floor and sits upright, fists raised, one swinging, and eyes looking round for danger. He huffs in amusement when he realises that the only people awake in the room were the pup and the Captain.

The Captain gives a small smile back.

"Good morning Porthos. Breakfast's downstairs, training's in an hour."

He leaves the room after getting an acknowledging nod in return.

Porthos raises his arms and stretches, groaning in the process, muscles protesting at two nights spent sleeping in chairs. He regards the two still sleeping on the bed with a fond smile and places a soft hand on Aramis' head.

"'Mis," he says gently, "it's morning." He runs his fingers through his friend's hair, electing a small groan and then a pair of brown eyes opening.

"Morning, Porthos," Aramis murmurs back. He looks down at the man still sleeping on his shoulder. "Athos slept through the night then? I don't remember feeling him have any more nightmares."

Porthos looked at him confused.

"He didn't have any that woke me up. When did he have a nightmare before? I thought he was finally getting rid of them."

"I think I only slept for a few hours before I was woken by noises though the wall." Aramis replies. "By the way he was restless, his dreams couldn't have been good. Thankfully he didn't seem to have caused any extra damage to his wounded side."

"I didn't hear any nightmares either," pipes up d'Artagnan, "thought one of you did wake me up with a kick in the ribs." He pouted and half heartedly rubbed his chest.

"You must have dreamed it, "says Aramis with a smirk. "It can't have been Athos and it certainly wasn't me. Speaking of Athos, I don't suppose you two could help me get him off me. I'm starving!" During the midst of Porthos' sudden awakening Athos had been pushed away from where he had been leaning against Porthos' leg and was now sprawled partially across Aramis' chest. Surprisingly he was still asleep.

Porthos smirked back at him.

"Perhaps I should leave him there." At that moment Aramis' stomach growled loudly. "Perhaps not," he added with a grin. D'Artagnan couldn't help but snort in amusement.

Aramis, with the help of his two friends, was quickly freed from underneath the injured man's weight. They rolled him onto his back and settled him back on his pillows. Despite being really careful not to wake him up the movement cause him to open his eyes.

"Sorry, Athos," says Porthos. "We didn't mean to wake ya."

Aramis was quick to assess his patient, brushing a now free hand against his forehead and thankfully finding it as cool as the night before.

"How's your side feeling this morning?"

Athos looked up at them, bleary eyed and clearly not quite awake yet.

"Stop fussing, 'Mis," he moans. He stops and thinks for a second. "Who's my babysitter today?"

"I am," says Porthos. "Aramis is leading the recruit's shooting trainin', and d'Artagnan is running between the training and here as needed."

Aramis' stomach chooses this moment to growl loudly again. He presses his hands to it in a failed attempt to muffle the sounds and looks a little sheepish at the attention he has gained.

Porthos slung an around the marksman's shoulders.

"Getting a mite hungry are we?" He says with a laugh. "Well you are in luck! Treville said breakfast is downstairs and you've got about three quarters of an hour to enjoy it before you gotta be outside."

Athos shifts, getting an elbow under him before being stopped by a hand on his shoulder.

"And where do you think you are going?" Asks Aramis.

"Breakfast," was the sullen reply.

"No, Athos. You are having breakfast up here. You are on bed rest, remember? We'll bring your food up here when we go fetch ours and we'll eat up here so you don't have to eat alone."

Athos glared at his friend but stayed silent, to be honest his wound was burning just from the slightest of movement so he knew that he could never manage to get down the stairs, let alone up them again even with help but he didn't like being in a weakened position, even in front of his closest friends.

"At least help me sit up," he grumbled. "You can't expect me to be able to eat lying down."

Aramis and Porthos helped him to sit up, resting him against the headboard as he silently tried to control the pain and fighting against light headedness.

The others could tell by how much he paled by how much he was hurting, but as Porthos and d'Artagnan (Aramis had raced out of the room to fetch a bottle of potion from a bag in his room) couldn't help with it they didn't mention it.

Aramis held out the bottle he returned with to the injured man who took it and drank it, knowing from the label on the bottle that is was a pain reliever.

Wincing at the dreadful aftertaste Athos gave Aramis back the bottle, who put it into his pocket to be returned to his medical kit and refilled for a later date.

Aramis tilted his head towards the door and indicated to the others (those who could stand at any rate) to come and help and get the food. He and Porthos moved towards the door but d'Artagnan didn't move from his position sitting crossed legged at the end of the bed.

"Will you two be able to manage to get all the food up here?" He asked. Aramis smiled knowingly and replied,

"You have a talk with Athos, we'll be fine."

Both men stayed silent as two pairs of footsteps disappeared down the wooden stairs but eventually d'Artagnan spoke.

"You are wrong, you know."

"Hmmm?" answered Athos, confused.

"What you said last night, about being worthless. You're not and never will be. I hope that someday I'll at least be as half as good as you. You are the best man I know, but don't tell the others I told you that!"

Athos still looked down at his hands but a small smile was tugging at the corners of his mouth.

"Don't let Aramis hear you say that last part or we'll never hear the end of his complaining." The smile disappeared again. "I am not a good role model for you, d'Artagnan. I hide from my problems with alcohol and I keep secrets that could harm the people I am trying to protect. Look at the business with my wife- we might not have had to go through with that whole charade and Constance wouldn't have been kidnapped if I had shared. Out of any of us it is Porthos you should be looking up to. He has risen from nothing to become a fair and honest man. I don't know what it is that you see in me."

"Your loyalty for one," said a voice in the doorway. The two men on the bed turned to find Aramis there, leaning against the jam, with a grin on his face and a laden tray in his hands. Porthos was standing behind him, also carrying a tray. Aramis continued to speak as he and Porthos put their trays on the room's dresser top and started to share out the food.

"You are fair and loyal to your beliefs and honest when it matters. I know that Treville thinks of you replacing him sometime in the future and I can't think of a better man to be Captain. The garrison respects you and will follow you anywhere you ask. You are a formidable strategist and don't act rashly; you think every situation through. You would never waste a life foolishly and everyone knows it. Everyone has faults, except me perhaps," Porthos gave him a playful shove at this boast. "But seriously Athos, your strengths outweigh any faults you may think you have."

Athos sits in silence for a moment, staring at his hands and contemplating what they had just told him.

"It is heartening to know that you believe in me, my friends, even if I do not believe in myself," he says eventually. "I am honoured to know you."

"We are honoured to know you too," said Porthos, the others all nodding in agreement. "Now enough of this talk, time to eat! I'm starving!"

They pass the food around and settle around the room to eat, d'Artagnan still sitting at the foot of Athos' bed, Aramis claiming the chair by the window and Porthos guarding the door.

With his friends surrounding him Athos was starting to feel more himself. Even if he did feel like he was a disappointment he knew that he had his friends there to pick him up and to help him through any situation. The warm glow that was collecting in his chest was something that wouldn't go away any time soon, not if his friends had any say in the matter!

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_I have two other fics finished that I am going to post after the weekend (that's when my craft fair is so I shouldn't be busy after that), two others are unfinished but I want them posted before Christmas and I have an idea for a Christmas themed fic so with fingers crossed you might find a small load of stories from me to enjoy over the festive period._


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